Tracing the Plot Finds
by Seppuku Doll
Summary: A series of IzumiMeroko oneshots for the 30 angsts community. Spoilers will be sprinkled all throughout.
1. The Hospital Bed

Disclaimer: Full Moon Wo Sagashite and its characters belong to Arina Tanemura.

A/N: I joined this 30angsts community on LJ and thought I would post my Izumi/Meroko themes up here. As the community demands, all the chapters will indeed be angsty.

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_My heart stopped pumping  
But my blood is still alive.  
_--Cat Faces by Ugly Casanova

_Theme: Killing for the Sake of Killing  
_The Hospital Bed

Only a few weeks ago was she born again, bursting from an egg, alive, restless, breathless, curious to know her name and her whereabouts and of the dull throb in her wrists. Only a few days ago did she meet this man, Izumi. She knew she loved him right away; he was beautiful and she loves beautiful things. And from now on, until forever, they are to be together. Partners. And Meroko can scarcely believe her good luck - forever has just begun.

She has told him that she likes him already and she repeats it often, sometimes loudly, sometimes softly, but always with the same sincerity. He usually gives her no reply, which is fine: you can't rush love, after all. She told him once again this morning and this time, he made a response, though it was not the one she had hoped for.

_"You won't later this evening."_

And now Meroko is behind him, her hands tightly gripping her skirt, slender fingers lost in the fabric. They are shinigami and this is their first mission. She has entertained herself with romantic, tragic, beautiful fantasies of this moment for the entire duration of her training. As she watches his long, deft fingers draw a chalk circle on the wall of this hospital, she thinks that this is already more exciting than what she had imagined. He casts a spell too quickly for her to catch and as usual, she is full of admiration for her partner. The wall ripples like water and he sinks through without effort, trusting her to follow - which she does without thought.

"Where is he, Izumi?" She asks, barely able to conceal her excitement. Her eyes fall upon the wicked scythe that has just appeared in his hand without ceremony or warning and he silences her with a glare, nodding toward the center of the room.

The child in the hospital bed is dwarfed by the machinery and the tubes entering and leaving his frail body. He can't be older than seven, but Meroko didn't read the file. His breathing is slow and laboured with a wheeze on every exhale so loud that it seems like his soul is already trying to escape. The room is illuminated by one weak light hanging over his head, casting a halo over his lank hair and lending a jaundiced tone to his papery skin. Suddenly, this is not as glamorous as she had thought it would be.

Slowly, the boy turns his head toward them, the motions of his neck halting and starting as if collecting energy to finish the action. He does not open his eyes and Meroko reaches a hand toward him that Izumi stops with firm fingers around her thin wrist.

"Why do we do this?" She asks in a whisper, though it is doubtful the boy can hear her.

"Do you think he wants to live?"


	2. Stained Glass Eyes

_People sink your boat  
When you cut a tragic figure.  
_--Stained Glass Eyes by Elliott Smith

_Theme: Toys  
_Stained Glass Eyes

Izumi doesn't know this, but Meroko likes to collect toys. Odds and ends, some broken, some perfect, some old, some brand new. They are tucked away in a corner of her chambers, a menagerie of miniature cars and worn dolls with eyes as dead as those who they once belonged to. Everytime she leaves them for a mission, she returns with another friend for the group, complete with embroidered smile or chipped red paint. The collection is growing and though she is glad to have them, the fact that she is gaining more and more says something about the state of the world she haunts.

At first, Meroko would cry everytime she took one, her tears rolling over porcelain and plastic as she clutched the play thing to her chest. But as time progressed, she began taking them out of habit. Anything that glittered or caught her eye was plucked as she and Izumi left and tucked beneath the folds of her skirt until they returned to the underworld. She still labels each one but she doesn't sob anymore as she arranges them into whatever aesthetically pleasing order she decides on that day. It's becoming more and more of a chore, but she can't imagine stopping.

One day, when she retuns on some errand or another, she finds her door open. Izumi is standing in the middle of the room, blonde head bowed as he stares at the clump of toys in the corner. A furious blush rises in her cheeks and she is unable to enter, feeling unwelcome in her own room. Will he find her more foolish than he already thinks she is? Is he angry? She takes a few quiet steps backward in an effort to disappear into the walls. Of course, he hears her.

"Why do you have these?" He asks softly without turning to look at her. She is almost grateful for that.

"I...I take them."

"Obviously. But why?"

Why?

"Because..." She is not very eloquent, but she thinks the reason should be clear without her saying so.

Because they are keepsakes. Because some of these toys are thirty years old or older and if she doesn't keep these, then no one will remember these children. Then they will have never existed in the pages of time. They will be forgotten like she was, lost like her own memories.

On their next mission, he allows her to extract the soul from the little girl sprawled on the road, limbs broken and bruised from the car that has just collided into her. The driver of the car is vomiting his drink on the side of the road. Clutched in the girl's arms is a tiny doll with woolen hair and button eyes as piercing as Izumi's and though she feels the compulsion, she does not take it. When she returns to her room that night, she cries for a child for the first time in a long time, cries at the fact that already, she has forgotten the girl's name though she tried her best to hold onto it. Already, the image of her face has dissipated.

On hands and knees, she crawls toward her trinkets. At the very front is the doll she had abandoned, a smear of blood tarnishing its pale face. A label attached to her foot reads "Yuki" in handwriting that is not hers.


	3. 1 Corinthians 13:11

A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed so far. You have no idea how much it means to me and how excited I am to get e-mails that say someone's reviewed my story. This project has become my baby. In this installment, you may notice that I use a bible verse. I was rewatching Hackers the other day and when I heard the verse said by Matthew Lillard's character, Cereal Killer, I thought, "Whoashit. That's deep. I'll use it." And I did.

Also, all the songs I use in here are the songs that I'm usually listening to while I write these, so I like to think they set the mood one way or another. I highly recommend all of them._

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_

_I took a little more of what I take for granted  
And filled my plate for fear that gears would turn  
And wheels would roll away.  
...  
__And when they arch your backbone  
Such a dreadful sight.  
_--President of What? by Death Cab for Cutie

_Theme: The First Time  
_1 Corinthians 13:11  
"When I was a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things."

When Izumi was born the second time, spawned from nothing, there were certain discrepancies between his mind and body. His form was that of a full-grown man but he had not fully matured; not in the emotional sense. The result was a juxtaposition of child and adult, a confused and hurried growth process that essentially crushed the residue of lingering adolescence. He didn't know it then, but six was apparently a very early age to die.

There was an odd sense of empathy when he drew a soul from a shuddering, small body every time for a long time. There were strange urges to play, to run, to let his heart decide and let his body follow. But he learned eventually that his heart had no pulse and therefore, no authority over his actions. He ascended the ranks quickly with this knowledge in hand.

Yui Meroko was everything he had been at first, an unwelcome window to his recent past. Naive, eager, hopeful, beautiful. Childish in expectation though adult in shapely figure. Izumi came to the conclusion at one time or another that she too died before her maturation could be completed. Sooner or later, he thought, reality would catch her wings and pull them down. And yet, it never did. He loved her for it. He hated her for it.

And the first time he forced his kiss upon her, he felt disgusted. Because the feel of her against him was too pleasing, her soft breaths too exciting, and her childish whimpers and protests too familiar. Because even if her dainty hips and slender throat said differently, she was still so young. The first time he touched her, he tasted her youth and drank her innocence. A leech. A parasite. Something odious and foul, preying on a willing victim.

But the first time she touched him, she ate his pain, devoured his aches. A leech. A parasite. And so now, he likes to think that they feed off one another; he takes her purity and she takes his age. And maybe one day, they'll be able to meet in the middle.


End file.
